


Distance

by weirdmilk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Graduation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdmilk/pseuds/weirdmilk
Summary: Graduation had been pleasant. Students had laughed. Several of them had cried. A few of them had even done both at once. Akaashi had felt a distant benevolence towards them. The next time, it would be his turn. He would receive a certificate, and his parents would place it on the mantelpiece for visitors to see. People would tell him that he’d done well, and they’d clap him on his shoulders.The ceremony had been fine. He certainly had enjoyed himself, and if he had kept his eyes trained on spots on the ceiling, or cracks in the floor, then that was up to him, wasn’t it? If he had avoided the piercing golden gaze of his captain, then that had not been something purposeful. It had just turned out that way. If he had - accidentally, of course - turned minutely away from Bokuto, when he’d held out a hand to grab questioningly at Akaashi’s sleeve, then - it was regrettable, but it meant nothing.





	Distance

Graduation, on the whole, had been pleasant. Students had laughed. Several of them had cried. A few of them had even done both, at once. Akaashi had felt a distant warmth towards the graduating class, but that had been all. The next time the gymnasium filled in the same way, it would be his turn. He would receive a certificate, and his parents would display it on the wooden mantelpiece for visitors to see. People would tell him that he’d done well, and they’d clap him on his shoulders.

The ceremony had been fine. He certainly had enjoyed himself, and if he had kept his eyes trained on spots on the ceiling, or cracks in the floor, then that was up to him, wasn’t it? If he had avoided the piercing golden gaze of his captain, then that had not been by design. It had just happened that way. If he had - accidentally, of course - turned minutely away from Bokuto, when he’d held out a hand to grab a question into Akaashi's elbow, then - it was regrettable, but it meant nothing. If he’s thinking about the silence he’ll find when he opens the gym next year, when he walks into the clean, empty room to set up, then - he’s thinking of it neutrally.

And if, now, he lay awake, listening to the gentle hum of traffic in his artificially darkened room at nine in the morning, then it had nothing to do with the ceremony at all. It had nothing to do with it. It had nothing to do with the hand at his sleeve. The eyes. The smile. The quiet. It really - really, it - nothing, nothing -

His thoughts are cut short by a knock at the door. The knocker gives him no time to answer before barging in.

Obviously - because obviously - it’s Bokuto. He’s back-lit by the golden light from the hallway, and it makes his presence even more inescapably owlish. He’s wearing his Fukurodani sweatshirt and a pair of grey, nameless sweatpants. The sweater’s fabric clings lovingly to his shoulders. Akaashi averts his gaze from the material with slow determination. There’s a faint layer of sweat on his forehead; he’s clearly just been for his morning run. Akaashi should wrinkle his nose - should tell him to go home, to shower, before coming into his neat, clean room and making it smell of unwashed athlete. Akaashi should do a lot of things. He waves Bokuto inside. 

‘Hey,’ Bokuto says, shuffling forward, hands in his pockets. ‘Your mum let me in.’ Akaashi thinks, darkly, that he needs to have a word with his mother regarding which of his friends she should open the door to.

‘Hello.’ Akaashi swallows. He sits up, crossing his legs in front of him and folding his arms for good measure. It feels unbalanced to be wearing pyjamas while Bokuto is fully dressed. It has always been the other way round: Akaashi has a sense of decorum, and Bokuto does not.

‘I thought you might miss me.’ Bokuto swings his arms against his side. His hair stretches upwards, in its feathery little rows. His hair is so stupid, Akaashi thinks despairingly. ‘So I’m here. Did you miss me? Akaashi? Did you?’

‘I saw you yesterday, Bokuto-san,’ Akaashi says, hopelessly stiff and polite in his soft white pyjamas.

‘Not that kind of miss,’ Bokuto says with an easy shrug and an easy grin. Easy. Bokuto is easy. Everything for Bokuto will continue to be easy, and simple, and good. Bokuto is the kind of person for whom life will part like the seas.

‘Well - I’m fine.’ Akaashi fiddles with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He feels exposed. Bokuto has never seen him in his bed before, either. A muted sadness is stroking at his throat. ‘Congratulations. On the graduation. Bokuto-san.’

‘Yeah,’ Bokuto says enthusiastically. ‘Congratulations on making Captain! Awesome! I’m moved!’

‘You made me Captain, Bokuto-san. It can’t have been surprising to you.’

‘Well - no - but it’s still cool, isn’t it?’

‘It’s still cool,’ Akaashi murmurs in agreement, feeling uncharacteristically indulgent. He smiles weakly in the face of Bokuto’s overwhelming self. He’s had very little sleep. That is what accounts for the sense of loss licking at his ribs. Bokuto gazes at him with a sweet benevolence. Akaashi envies the unguarded simplicity of his expression.

‘I made you tea,’ Bokuto informs him, breaking through his thoughts, ‘but I left it in the kitchen.’

‘Were my parents there?’ Akaashi asks, faintly alarmed. How much chaos can Bokuto cause in ten minutes? Did he burn anything? Spill it? Eat the entire contents of the fridge? What will his parents say to him, once Bokuto has left? What will he need to explain away? 

‘They helped,’ Bokuto says, very earnestly. Akaashi’s heart squeezes. He closes his eyes for a moment, to reset himself.  
  
Bokuto - who deals with Akaashi’s occasional lapses into silence by cheerfully breaking that silence - crosses the length of the room in two long strides. His round eyes flicker across the room. The two of them are still in the half-light of Akaashi’s closed curtains. A small strip of light illuminates a small portion of Akaashi’s bedding. It’s not right, for Bokuto: he doesn’t live in shadowy half-light; he brings blinding brightness wherever he goes. With a dramatic flourish, he pushes the curtains open and lets the sunlight stream in, a rush of yellow. Akaashi makes a mildly distressed noise, covering his eyes. Bokuto smiles over at him, unruffled. He falls onto the end of the bed with a sigh of contentment. The springs chatter nervously as the weight settles. Akaashi winces at the ominous sound.  
  
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Bokuto says, ‘I’m in really good shape.’

‘That’s not -’ Akaashi begins, but sighs and closes his mouth.

‘Akaashi,’ Bokuto ventures, and there is a sudden mild shiftiness to him that makes Akaashi nervous, ‘I was gonna say it cooler than this, but -’

‘Don't say thank you,’ Akaashi interrupts him, feeling panic curling the edges of his voice, ‘please, I’ll-’

‘I wasn't going to say thank you.’ Bokuto looks taken aback. His surprise pulls Akaashi back from the edge of a cliff. He hadn't realised he was so close to falling over it. ‘Why would I say thank you?’

Akaashi frowns. ‘Well - actually,’ he says stiffly, ‘there are quite a few things -’

Bokuto waves this away. ‘It’s not any of them.’

‘What then,’ Akaashi says, suspicious. He feels a certain restlessness in his limbs. A certain clamminess in his palms. Perhaps the heating has been turned up, he thinks.

‘Oh,’ Bokuto says, generously, ‘just that - I’m in love with you. I think.' Akaashi's breath stutters. 'And we should go out. Definitely. And hey, do you want to set for me? I want to try this new thing, where -’

Akaashi swallows. 

Bokuto continues talking. Akaashi can feel the cliff looming before him, again, but he has the terrible, insensible feeling that if he walks off the edge he’ll be able to fly. His heart beats fast and urgent. ‘Bokuto-san,’ he says, but it’s barely a whisper. He clears his throat. ‘Bokuto-san,’ he says again, more clearly, with effort.

Bokuto stops mid-sound effect, and glances over at him, hands paused in wild gesticulation. There’s no nervousness in his gaze, just the kind warmth that Akaashi has let roll over him so many times over the past two years. It had been foolhardy of him. He’ll have to re-learn how to live in that cool darkness. He’s done it before. But back then, he hadn’t realised such a bright heat could reach him at all. Maybe it would have been best to stay ignorant, than to know, and lose, his own personal sun.

Maybe, but maybe not. 

‘Bokuto-san,’ Akaashi murmurs for the third time. ‘Okay.’ If he holds his fingers together, their trembling is less obvious.

‘Okay?’ Bokuto says. ‘Okay - you’ll go out with me?’ He’s grinning, glad and happy and secure. He doesn't look surprised. 

‘Okay, I’ll go out with you,’ Akaashi whispers, and he’s brought his hands up to cover his face, because Bokuto’s warmth is everywhere at once and it’s overwhelming and - surely, it’s inhuman to feel this much of anything. Surely it’s unhealthy for his body to feel this level of buoyancy at its cellular level. Every part of him feels refreshed and new and sparkling, like a new tube of toothpaste. He bites his lip in an attempt to control himself.   
  
‘Great!’ Bokuto says - or shouts, really, and he obviously realises he’s shouting because he brings his hand up to cover his mouth, and whispers ‘great’ through his fingers.

Akaashi rolls his eyes and pulls Bokuto’s fingers away from his lips. ‘It might be - hard,’ he says, watching Bokuto’s follow the movement of his fingers.

‘Yeah,’ Bokuto says seriously. ‘There’s lots of things to remember. Birthdays and chocolates. Christmas, too. Directions to your house.’

‘That’s not -’ Akaashi says, and swallows, and tries again: ‘I don’t mean - it’s a long way, where you’re going -’

Bokuto thinks about this. ‘Is it?’ he says cheerfully.

‘Yes,’ Akaashi murmurs, picking at a loose thread on his blanket, ‘it’s quite a long way.’ It’s - roughly, Akaashi isn’t entirely, absolutely certain - 365 kilometers, in fact.  
  
‘You know what’s - even a longer way away?’ Bokuto says, and in a sudden, fluid motion, stands up on Akaashi’s bed. Oh no, Akaashi thinks, he’s going to make a speech. ‘It’s even longer away if we weren’t together, like how we are now. Like how you just agreed to be together with me. And you can’t take it back!’ Bokuto grins down at Akaashi with all his teeth, looking like the beautiful madman he is. Akaashi thinks he's in love with him, too. Maybe. ‘Because it’s less far if you’re here waiting for me, rather than if you’re just here on your own.’

‘It really makes no difference to the distance, whether or not I agreed to go out with you,’ Akaashi mumbles through the thickness in his throat. ‘But I know what you mean.’

‘You do?’ Bokuto looks surprised, and then pleased with himself. ‘I mean - yeah. You do!’

‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ Akaashi says, quietly, ‘but I believe you mean that the distance seems less daunting if you know that someone's waiting for you back home.’

‘Yeah,’ Bokuto says, nodding. ‘Cool.’ Akaashi thinks, urge to laugh coming into sharp focus: he doesn’t know what daunting means.

Akaashi says, ‘Bokuto-san.’

‘Hm?’ Bokuto squints at him.

‘Close your eyes.’ Akaashi instructions have a clinical flatness to them, but inside he feels a sharp delight at the sound of Bokuto’s quick intake of breath, and as he moves he knocks his blankets to the floor, decorum be damned. He crawls down the bed until he’s kneeling next to Bokuto, who’s staring at him with such wonder it’s as though he believes Akaashi hung the moon in the sky. Akaashi meets the gaze levelly, but there’s a flusteredness fluttering inside him. ‘Close your eyes,’ he repeats. Bokuto closes his eyes obediently, but Akaashi can see him sneak one eye open a few seconds later. ‘Bokuto-san!’ he says, and can’t help a dry laugh from stuttering out.

‘Okay okay,’ Bokuto says, and closes them properly. ‘Sorry, Akaashi - I’ve just never seen you so close, it’s - really good! With the hair, and the eyes.’

‘Hm,’ Akaashi says, but he feel an impractical heat rising in his cheeks, and he’s grateful that Bokuto can't see the pinkness. 

Once more, for good measure, he checks Bokuto’s eyes are really, truly closed, and then he allows himself, for a moment, to feel the huge, rising tide of happiness inside him and kisses Bokuto.  Once, on the lips, gentle and chaste and - objectively, probably a boring first kiss, he thinks. It’s probably not a good kiss. It’s like everything: practice will bring the real skill. Akaashi is aware that it wasn’t a good kiss, so he can’t begin to explain the speed at which his heart is galloping, or the fact that he’s already leaning in for another one, and the way that Bokuto is muttering frantic and obnoxious praise against his mouth (‘This is nice, this is nice - your mouth is very soft, as soft as a cat I touched once - not Kuroo - he’s pointy -’) until Akaashi tells him, ‘I know, shut up, stop talking.’

Bokuto pulls back and rests on his heels. He’s always listened to Akaashi, so he stops talking. Instead, he lunges forward and kisses Akaashi’s cheek with a childish clumsiness, but Akaashi still shivers at the feel of warm lips on his cool skin. He lets Bokuto rest his head contentedly on his shoulder, chattering about nothing. He thinks about the graduation. He thinks about the cracks on the ceilings, and the stains on the walls. He turns his thoughts to Bokuto, and only Bokuto. He thinks about Bokuto - golden-eyed and wild and strong, and he thinks about Bokuto, and he thinks about Bokuto. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for a prompt over at a hq discord! 'the day after graduation'! so it's short and sweet and my first time writing bokuaka but hope you enjoyed~ i'm english so use english spellings, fyi, it's not wrong :p


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